Friday night you're going nowhere
Sitting at a table that is round
Talking about past adventures
As lots of food and drink are downed
All dragons have been slain
And an army would be insane
to challenge you
Which I guess is good in part
But you don't seem to have a single thing that you can do

Saturday you're riding horses
But it's just pretend fighting it's for show
While your fame is staying stagnant
Your boredom is continuing to grow
None of you are very old
And you should do something that's bold
Go on a quest
The Pope wants you to find something
And if you succeed then I'm sure that you'll be blessed

If you're not wimps
Go and get it
Create your own trail
The treasure I
Am speaking of
Is the holy grail
Get off of your butts
Get out of your beds
And get out of
Camelot, Camelot

Sunday you're still comtemplating
Thinking, should you stay or should you go
If you fail then your big egos
Will definitely suffer a devastating blow
You know that's not right
You are a bunch of macho knights
Follow your hearts
And it would be so
Cool if you all decided you would go
To unknown parts

If you're not wimps
Go and get it
Create your own trail
The treasure I
Am speaking of
Is the holy grail
And get out of
Get off of your butts
Get out of your beds
And get out of
Get off of your butts
Get out of your beds
And get out of
Get off of your butts
Get out of your beds
And get out of
Get off of your butts
Get out of your beds
And get out of

Camelot, Camelot, Camelot